O fix me in thy calm retreat!
Where friendship spreads her tranquil seat,
 Remote from noise, and love,
Where rural beauties deck the glade:
And nightly, thro' the checker'd shade
 The nimble elfins move:

Full oft adown the sloping green—
From window-arch'd , the band is seen,
 A light fantastic train!
Blythe Oberon and Mab advance,
And agile, thrid the mystic dance—
 Athwart the dappled plain.

When virgin Cynthia, riding high,
Illumes the star-bespangled sky,
 And gilds the scene below;
'Tis then, enrapt, you catch the sound—
Of waters stealing o'er the mound
 Soft murmuring, as they flow.

O would the raptured powers of song!
But wast thy rhyming friend along—
 And seat me by thy side;
Reclining on the verdant grass—
We'd mark the Naiads, as they pass—
 Adown the argent tide:

Nor should a Dryade move unseen—
Across the gay enamell'd green
 That bounds the rimpled stream;
I'd charm them with the magic lyre,
While Phœbus fann'd the lambent fire
 To aid the gentle theme.

Nor should the joys of vagrant Love
Re-echo from the lonesome grove,
 Or from the rock rebound;
I'd teach the grove, and mountain tall,
The cavern'd rocks and water-fall
 To swell a nobler sound:

He , whilom threw, a random dart,
And pierced a young unguarded heart,
 Which felt the instant blow;
Awhile with hope it fondly bled,
Anon to hope, and comfort dead,
 It pined with ruthless woe!

But now above his arts it soars;
While friendship all her skill explores
 To heal the rankling wound:
Now comfort dawns, and joy regains
The smiling empire of the plains,
 And rapture laughs around.